Background

Kansas man, born and raised since June of 1972. Francis grew up in the town of Pittsburg, right next to the border with Missouri and close to Kansas City, a small town but just as good as any other. See, this boy is the proud son of Oscar Malarkey, owner of "Mal's Motor Pool", best mechanic in town, region and, if Francis was to believe it, the whole State of Kansas. And hell, Francis was not one to doubt his father. His mother, though, was a fond memory to be kept close together in his mind. Or, now, one to be glad didn't live long enough to face the horrors of this land. Years went by as Francis grew to find success in the automobilistic industry after he finished Mechanical Engineering through the University of Kansas, part of the best class of 1996 – or so he called it –. Progress was steady, and his father’s old shop efficiently increased in success, from the old motor pool was born a specialized workshop under General Motors sponsorship, a place now under Francis’ ownership. It all went well and Francis even managed to find a fine lady named Barbara of which he dreamed of calling the mother of his child, before the tragedy. Once the news of a strange flower flu started airing on the stations, each day was accompanied by even darker prospects, deaths started and the true reality of their situation was undeniable. Mother nature had decided to rid its surface from humankind, and Francis saw his world torn to shreds. He witnessed the violence reported in the radio broadcast on a shelf within the workshop, the rumors of brutal crimes being committed in the town he grew up in by strange figures. Suddenly, a shootout started on the street. Running to the door, Francis saw a disfigured body, inching towards one of the officers on the street. Warned multiple times, possibly mistaken as some kind of insane sickness, then hit by the officer in an attempt of an arrest, but it did no good. The officer was just as unprepared as any other at the time as his forearm was bitten and the man shrieked in agony. Francis ran inside yelling for his men to go home, hastily jumping into his truck’s cabin and hitting the gas back home. He drove fast through the streets of Pittsburg, trying to reach home where his father and girlfriend awaited his arrival. Driving by his yard, Francis could only watch as the door of his home laid in shambles, broken through and its furniture scrambled, he ran inside following a blood trail and found the bodies of his girlfriend and father laid on the kitchen’s flooring. His legs gave out as sobbed at the sight and the trail that followed past the door frame where slow steps inched closer, creeping through the opening as Francis finally saw closely how the disease looked on those who perished, and the blood that covered its deceased body. Fueled by anger, guilt and sorrow, the thing was fought without a second thought, in an engagement Francis turned out victorious. He spent hours preparing a grave where both his loved ones would rest and be spared from the horrors of the future. Francis drove off that day and spent the next month barely living through the next day. He scavenged, slept in the truck, looked for food, water and fuel until he found one of the government built quarantine zones. He kept thinking if he was even deserving of moving forward without them. Slowly, he started working on engines again as a coping mechanism, then a role within that quarantine zone as a proper mechanic. It lasted for two years until that quarantine zone in Fort Smith, Arkansas, suffered a catastrophic breach, evacuated hastily, leaving many people, resources and weapons behind. Part of the military joined with some other quarantine zone east, while the people left behind would live to see the start of a new settlement. For six years, he assisted in that objective as much as he could. Kept machines working with spare parts scarce by the minute and fuel turning into a rare commodity. Rumours of safe havens, lawless wasteland, fascist kingdoms and remnants of the US Army passed by word of mouth, left only to his imagination and the horrors still reminiscent in his memory. It didn’t take long for him to realize the fate of humankind could be that of failure to survive and see this through, or that he could not live to see it, but he strode onwards, trying to find a new reason to live for. Under the territory of the coalition, the town saw great progress. He observed from his position as people tried to reach normality, but felt an increasing unrest. Catching himself lost in thoughts, if there was something else he could’ve done, and if there was something he could do somewhere else. The thought kept trailing within his mind as curiosity kept him looking at an old map, until something clicked in his mind, recollecting an old name at the back of his mind, “Northbank”. The government quarantine zone the military evacuated to from Fort Smith, located far east of their position, but within his grasp. A caravan from the Coalition would depart in that direction through the Kentucky gap in the next month, the right opportunity for his migration eastwards. A month forward, Francis carried the bags with his belongings onto a truck, thoughts racing in his mind with doubts. People spoke in the caravan of marvels of the present day. People are alive and well. Safe zones with no sick, no evil plants to fear, lands of green farms and life still sprawled throughout the land. Lands with functioning governments and a prospering society. Things too good to be true, but he was incapable of breaking the truth for them. The human spirit needs to see a light somewhere, even in the darkest times, and he knew very well of that sentiment, one he pondered upon every now and then throughout the trip. After the arrival in Kentucky, Francis followed a map to navigate the wastelands that were once sprawling cities filled with life, now stuck forever as a husk, towards the KQZ where he is currently assisting as an engineer.